Little Miss
by Blue-Scarves-And-Tea
Summary: Consulting Detective is bored out of his mind, begging for a case. In the middle of the night a young girl breaks into their flat. The next morning the girl asks for Sherlock's help, but not to find her parents' killer as Sherlock first assumed. As a runaway from a wealthy family she must go undercover as John's niece. Will our Detective be able to find the answers?
1. Chapter 1

It was about two in the morning and all was quiet inside 221B. John Watson, retired Afghanistan soldier, was deeply asleep in his bedroom. His flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was on a couch in the living room with his eyes closed and fingertips positioned at the tip of his lips, deep in thought as usual. It had been a few weeks after his last case and he had nothing to occupy his time at the moment.

Sherlock wouldn't say he has insomnia, he chooses to be conscious even at hours as late as this. His mind buzzing around thinking and analyzing all sorts of thoughts. Oh but he was ever so bored. He was using all of his will power to not grab the pistol on the end table next to him and shoot at the smiley face on the wall. He needed a case. There must be something occurring right now, it being around two fifteen in the morning he was hoping that somewhere there was a crime being committed, enough to peek his interest.

John would often barge into the room as Sherlock would be doing something like shooting the wall or wielding a sword at an invisible foe creating the usual ruckus when he's bored. He would wave a newspaper in Sherlock's face telling him to look for something. But only the 4s and under are in that thing, and Sherlock needed a 9, right now.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Giving in he sighed and stood up from the couch, his neck making a pop sound as a result from his poor laying position. He fixed the ties on his dressing robe and walked towards his bedroom. His eyes slowly looking over the floor as he does, deducting the state of the carpet, he writes down a mental note to tell John to vacuum the damn place later. He closes the door of his bedroom and collapses on his bed. Sherlock closes his eyes muttering something about how bored he was and how he literally could feel his mind rotting. Somehow the consulting detective was finally able to drift off to sleep. Sherlock Holmes needed a case, and little did he know that this case was running around the streets of London, looking for him, in the shape of a little girl.

In the shadows of the late night a young girl is darting from building to building. She hides at the corners of these large structures, looking back to make sure she wasn't being followed. She let out a sigh of relief as she finished scanning the empty roads behind her. She had been running for ages, bloody body guards.

She looked around to see where she was. She found that she was a few streets away from where her destination, Baker Street. Tying her wet, light orange hair while she caught her breath the girl looked up at the night sky. She had escaped about three hours ago so it must have been around three in the morning.

She realized that she had been resting for far too long and after taking a glance back behind her she continued off into the night.

Left turn. Right turn. Left turn. Left turn. And then right again, trying to make her route as difficult and complicated as possible while trying to not get lost. Finally she was almost at Baker street, the only obstacle left in front of her was an apartment building. Suddenly she could hear men's voices behind her. She looked left and right and saw that the paths were too long with no turns. They'd definitely see her before she could turn corners again.

Panicking she looked up in front of her, noticing the string of fire escapes that lead up to the roof of the building. That could work, but she'd have to be careful and try not to rattle the metal around. The voices got louder. 'Shit shit shit.' She thought to herself. Not having anymore time to think about it she jumped up and grabbed the bottom of the fire escaped ladder. She pulled herself up quite easily, the girl thinking to herself that she was glad to finally be able to put all those years of forced gymnastics to use. Gradually made her way up to the top when all of sudden she heard two men speaking.

"Where the bloody hell is she!?" One of the men demanded. "Will you shut your trap, you git." The other spat in a whisper back. "If she hears you we'll never catch her." The girl tightened her grip on the metal bars. 'Oh shit, it's Bruce and Derek. Please don't look up, please don't look up.' The girl begged mentally, pressing herself against the building closing her eyes. Then she heard barking. 'Oh no.' She thought with despair. They had brought one of their tracking dogs.

"Just let Jack here sniff the lass out." Derek Said pointing at the dopey greyhound. At this the girl visibly relaxed and almost chuckled to herself. Jack, was the worst sniffer of the dogs from back at the manor. The closest thing she had to a best friend, true. But Jack couldn't sniff out anything even if it was a murderer drenched in his victim's blood. They probably brought him along thinking he'd be able to find her since he was always accompanying her.

She could hear the dog sniffing around, a stuffy kind of sniff obviously indicating his senses were clogged. Well, obvious to her anyway. "I think he's got something." Bruce said, in his horrible English accent. You could tell he was one of those idiot foreigners who moved here a few years prior claiming to have picked up the accent on accident. The girl sneered at him in the darkness. The only thing that was an accident was this man's conception.

The girl's ears picked up the sound of claws clicking against the pavement. "There he goes." Derek said pointing in the direction of Jack. He was leading them away. The girl sighed as she heard the men's footsteps fade away.

She was on the roof now, all she had to do was get down onto the other side. She walked over to the edge and realized there were no fire escapes on this end. Annoyed she paced left and right still looking at the front of the building above. Finally she caught side of a rusty old ladder. Carefully she climbed down, the ladder giving her a few scares as it creaked and swayed. She hopped off the retched thing and ran across the street towards the door labeled 221B. She looked at her wrist forgetting that she had ditched her watch in case it had a tracer a few blocks. Either way she knew it was way too early to be banging on doors.

She looked over at the side of the building and sighed, irritated. It appeared that she would have to do more climbing, although this time it'd be a bit more complicated. She jumped up and grabbed the frame of the door and swung to the side, her feet landing on the tarp of the store next to it. Carefully she balanced on top, crouching and looking up. Spotting a few chinks in the building she jumped and set her hands and feet in the chinks. Her bare feet barely gripping the brick she thrust herself upwards. Her hand had slipped halfway and panicking she grabbed another chink and climbed swiftly through the adrenaline rush. She finally got to the window but managed to scratch her silk pajamas scraping her knee as well.

She pushed the front of the window as she propped on top of the window sill. It was unlocked. The girl shook her head. 'For a person who so into crime solving he doesn't lock his windows, he must literally be begging for it' she thought to herself. She climbed into the flat's kitchen and closed the window. Taking in her surroundings she quickly wondered if she was in the right flat. Her concerns were eased though as she spotted a copy of "The Complete Italian Dictionary" with "Property of Sherlock Holmes" written on the lower right corner of the cover when she entered their living room.

She looked at the clock on top of the fireplace, it was four in the morning, holy crap she was exhausted. She glanced at a couch that had a few piles of blankets on it. 'Dirty ones, or at least, not very clean' She thought to herself. But she just shrugged it off and walked over to it. What could she do? You don't exactly come to a five star preparation when you break in to someones flat.

She climbed into the couch and buried herself in the multiple sheets. Literally burying herself. You wouldn't be able to see her with all the sheets, it just looked like a pile of blankets and sheets. Now cozy with satisfaction and relief she fell asleep. She fell asleep right there, in Sherlock Holmes's living room.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes was slowly regaining consciousness as he laid down on his bed. Blinking a few times his eyes adjusted fully to the light of the new day. He thought to himself if he should get up, he tried to think of reasons but none had come to mind. As if the world was against this the sun peaked out of a group of clouds and set its rays on full blast on Sherlock's face. He groaned and sat up, making his neck crack, again from the bad sleeping position.

He stood after some debate and self loathing and decided to head into the kitchen to make tea, or well, at least try. He passed John's room on the way and he could tell he was fast asleep by the man's snoring.

Sherlock got into the kitchen passing by the window to make a quick observation of the day and then started boiling water. He knew it wouldn't take a long time but he decided he might as well check up on his blog... Well maybe John's blog would have better updates although he'd never say that out loud. As the water kept heating up Sherlock grabbed John's laptop off of the coffee table and typed in the password. He could have used the guest account but that would have been no fun at all.

Sherlock sat on his chair in front of the fire place typing away sarcastic responses on John's blogs. Honestly did John really find it necessary to describe the way Sherlock would whine and complain when there were no cases? He didn't whine! He was just making sure John know he was bored.

He heard the hissing of the kettle in the kitchen and setting the laptop down on the coffee table he walked back into the kitchen. He turned off the heat and that was when John walked in. "You? Making tea?" Said John in surprise as he watched the detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation. "I knew you were bored but this?" Continued John, teasing him. "Oh I'm not making tea." Sherlock stated simply while smiling to himself. John looked up as he was inspecting the inside off the fridge. "What did you-" "I was just simply heating the water up for you." Sherlock said slyly. John blinked up at him confused. "I believe you yourself told me that me making tea was a disaster so..." Sherlock continued smiling and patting John on the back. "You're welcome!" Said Sherlock as he went into the living room. "For what!?" John called after him while grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge. "For the water of course! Remember I don't want sugar in mine!" Said Sherlock as he sat on his chair again near the fireplace.

John shook his head, but not in complete disbelief he knew better than to think Sherlock would be making his own tea, even It he was bored. As he prepared the tea he looked over to the living room. "What are your plans for today then?" John called into the direction of the living room. Meanwhile Sherlock was starring off into space not answering John.

John realized the conversation wasn't going anywhere so he finished making tea and strolled off into the living room. Setting the two mugs off tea on the coffee table John took his usual seat, sitting opposite off Sherlock. "I'm sorry, is that my laptop?" John asked pointing at the laptop in Sherlock's lap. "Oh, yes. Here I'm finished with it."Said Sherlock as he passed the laptop to John. "Well thanks for asking." John replied back, but Sherlock was staring off somewhere again. John followed his gaze out of curiosity. And his gaze fell on the couch, where a large pile of blankets were resting. "Uhm... how long has that been there?" John asked. "Too long," Sherlock said simply. "In fact could you just put those away into the laundry. I'll take care of it later, I need to step out anyway I suppose. Ugh. People."

John was taken off guard that Sherlock was actually willing to go out and take care of chores but he also wasn't about to pass up the gesture, although he was unsure as to why Sherlock had added the part about people. John stood up and walked over the couch but as he looked closer he noticed a strand of orange hair half concealed by the covers. He gripped the blankets with both of his hands and pulled them away, revealing a girl. "Uhm. Sherlock there is a girl on our couch..." John said quietly. "John I told you I would take care of It later." Said Sherlock, waving John away not even bothering to look. John wasn't quite sure what to do or say. Had Sherlock kidnapped a girl last night? Oh he couldn't possibly, this girl was too young and Sherlock already hated dealing with children so why would he?

John gave the girl a small shake on the shoulder, to which she immediately slapped his hand away. John was taken aback but also was not just going to stand there and let this girl sleep on their couch. "Wake up!" He commanded as he shook her some more. The girls eyes sprung open and quickly responded by kicking in John's direction, but just missing his side. John cursed as he took a step back. "What are you doing here?" He demanded.

The girl sat up eyeing John with irritation. "Well I do believe I was taking a nap." She retorted sourly. "Yes but how did you get into our flat." John questioned pressed. "Look," She began. "I'm pretty sure your boyfriend over there will be able to explain everything." She said as she lazily gestured towards Sherlock. John looked at his flat mate. "Well?" He asked expectantly, then turned around swiftly to the girl. "And he's not my boyfriend!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You came in through the kitchen window, but not before climbing up and over the other building in front of us. Which I will point out may be impressive coming from twelve year old. But you didn't come away unscathed. You're knee, it's cut. In fact if I were you I'd get a tetanus booster." The girl smiled tightly, covering her knee with her palm. "So, you want to know who I am or?" She asked sarcastically.

"Oh please, I know who you are. You're everywhere. Sorry to say that changing your hair color in mid escape doesn't disguise you that well." Sherlock scoffed. "How did you know I dyed it last night?" She asked defensively, touching her hair unconsciously. "Well obviously, it's still wet. It hasn't rained here in days, and you've actually stained our some of our blankets." At these words John looked over the pile of blankets noticing blotches of light orange. The girl didn't break eye contact with Sherlock though. "So, how do you know who I am."

"There's several web articles of your '_disappearance'_, for starters. Probably one in the newspapers if I look. You're Margaret Mathers. Fourteen years old as of last night. The articles say you were kidnapped, which is a lie seeing as you are now here in my flat. Probably not wanting the public to know that an heiress such as yourself actually ran away. Parents were murdered, no public explanation known, so you've come to me searching for answers after a year of not finding them yourself. However I refuse to take your case, not even a six, so why bother." He yawned waving her away.

John was about to protest, saying that a young girl like Margaret had a right to know who killed her parents but Margaret cut in. "I'm not here to find my parents' killer. That's a no-brainer, who do you think has been taking care of me after they've gone? Don't give me that look like you think it's as easy as; 'Oh yes the maid did it'. Cause it wasn't." She glared. "Ever since my parents were murdered, I have been locked up in that stupid manor. Now I want to know why."

"Oh please, isn't it obvious? As you are the only heir they are obviously trying to keep the last of the family alive. Hasn't that ever occurred to you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Looking away, disgusted by this girl's incompetence. "Alright then detective, riddle me this. Why have they been training me to be an assassin?" She smiled tightly. "If you think it's to avenge my parents you're mistaken. Wouldn't make sense since it's the killer himself who is training me, Or even a better why question**; Why **is it being allowed and supported by public authority. And even more so, **why **am I not the only case?"

Sherlock's mouth tightened into a thin line. "I suppose you have my attention." He said quietly.

Both John and Sherlock took their seats in front of the girl. "Alright," John began. "Would you care to elaborate Margaret?"

"Well you see that's the thing." Margaret paused a moment looking puzzled. "You see, I recently became aware that I am not the only one being subjected to this '_program'. _You see for awhile now they have put me through vigorous training, and they haven't told me much. I tolerated it because they said I would be killed if I didn't. I escaped last night to seek your help because I've heard so much about you." "So what exactly do you want me to do?" Sherlock pressed. "I want you to help me dig into the police archives about this. Help me find out why they've been targeting wealthy families with young teens, murdering their parents, and also what they are preparing for." She said simply.

John shook his head. "You see if I didn't know any better I'd say they were building an army." Margaret smiled at this. "Well that may be one of the outcomes. But whatever the case I want to put a stop to it before they kill more parents."

Sherlock looked at her incredulously. "If I were you I would just keep hiding. You've finally escaped, and knowing your _'training' _it wouldn't be that hard for you to disappear."

At this Margaret gave a tight smile. "Someone has to save these idiots. But frankly I could care less. It's obvious that they got themselves into this mess, so you are right why should I care. I guess I just simply want to know the truth."

John did a double take at her words, she almost sounded like Sherlock.

Sherlock simply stood up and walked away.

"What you're not going to help me?" Margaret called after him.

Sherlock turned back to look at her. "First, you're going to need a better disguise."

At just those first words the girl smiled cleverly. "Whatever you say detective, and please, call me Maggie.


End file.
